“Beg for it,” he orders, releasing my nipple with a wetPop. He slaps my other breast, the sting blooming hot. “Beg like the little girl who crawled back into my house.”
“Never,” I hiss, but my thighs clench, pussy throbbing emptily. He smirks, dark and cruel, and drops my wrists. Before I can move, he spins me around, face-first into the wall. My cheek presses cold tile. His body pins me from behind. One hand fists my hair, yanks my head back. The other shoves my skirt up to my waist, fingers hooking my panties and ripping them off in one brutal tear. Fabric shreds. Cool air hits my soaked folds.
“Wet already,” he mocks, two thick fingers slamming into me without warning. I cry out, walls clenching around the invasion. He pumps them deep, curling to hit that spot that makes my knees buckle. “Your pussy remembers who owns it. Dripping for the man who let you get snatched under his roof.”
“Asshole,” I moan, pushing back onto his hand. He adds a third finger, stretching me wide, thumb grinding my clit. Thestretch burns. Pleasure coils tight in my gut. His teeth graze my shoulder, then bite down hard enough to bruise.
“Spread your legs,” he commands. I do, feet sliding apart on the slick tile. He finger-fucks me harder, the wet sounds obscene in the narrow corridor. Pipes hum overhead. Distant voices echo from the kitchen, but we’re hidden in this shadow. His free hand wraps my throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make stars burst behind my eyes.
“Come on my fingers, Raina. Show me how much you hate me.” His voice is gravel, breath hot on my ear. I shatter, orgasm ripping through me. My pussy spasms, gushing over his hand. He doesn’t stop, forces me through it until I’m sobbing, legs shaking.
He pulls out, smears my wetness across my ass. I hear his belt unbuckle, his zipper rasp. Fabric rustles. Then his cockhead presses against me—hot, blunt, leaking precum. He doesn’t ease in. One brutal thrust buries him balls-deep. I scream, the fullness overwhelming, stretching me to my limit.
“Quiet,” he snaps, hand clamping over my mouth. “Or I’ll fuck you silent.” He pulls back, slams in again. The pace is punishing, hips snapping like he wants to break me. Each thrust jolts me against the wall, tits scraping tile, ass bouncing against his pelvis. His grip on my throat tightens, controlling my air. “You like this?” he grunts, pounding deeper. “Rough like the night you ran? Should’ve fucked you raw then, kept you chained.”
“Harder,” I demand through his fingers, muffled. He growls approval, releases my throat to grab my hips. Fingers bruise my skin as he yanks me back onto him. The angle changes—his cock drags against my front wall, hitting my G-spot every time. I come again, sudden and violent, vision blurring.
He doesn’t slow. He spins me to face him, lifts me like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap his waist instinctively. He pins me back to the wall, cock sliding home. Gravity drives him deeper. I claw his shoulders, nails drawing blood through his shirt. “Look at me while I ruin this pussy,” he orders. Our eyes lock—his dark with possession, mine wild with hate-laced need. He fucks up into me relentlessly. “Say it,” he demands, slowing to grind deep. “Say you’re mine.”
“Fuck off,” I pant, but my walls flutter around him. He laughs, drops me suddenly. I land on wobbly feet. He shoves me down. “Knees.”
I drop, tile biting my skin. His cock thrusts into my mouth—no warning, no mercy. Salty precum coats my tongue. He grips my hair, fucks my face. Gags wrench from my throat as he hits the back, balls slapping my chin. “Take it all,” he growls. “Choke on your Pakhan’s cock.” Tears stream down my face. Saliva drips from my lips as I swallow him like my life depends on this, because I’ve missed this, missed this thick cock, this man, this plundering and owning. He pulls out, slaps his wet length across my cheek. “Up.”
He hauls me to my feet, spins me again. This time, he bends me over a low metal supply cart half-hidden in the shadows. Cleaning rags and bottles rattle as my hands grip the edge, ass up, legs spread wide. He kicks my feet farther apart, exposing me completely.
“Hold on,” he warns, then thrusts in. The new angle spears me deep. I moan out loud, head dropping. He fists my hair like reins, yanks my back into an arch. His free hand cracks across my ass—hard, stinging slaps that echo. The skin burns red under his palm. “Count them,” he orders.
“One,” I gasp as his cock drives in. Slap. “Two.” Thrust. Each spank jolts me onto him. Pain melts into fire low in my belly. “Whose house is this?” Slap-thrust.
“Yours,” I moan. “Sergei’s.”
“Louder.” Slap. My ass throbs, my pussy clenches greedily.
“Sergei’s house! Sergei owns me!” The words rip out on a sob. He rewards me with faster thrusts, hand soothing the burn now, squeezing possessively.
“Good girl.” His voice roughens. He pulls out, flips me onto my back atop the cart, legs over his shoulders. He folds me nearly in half, knees to my chest. Vulnerable, open. His cock slams home, gravity pulling him impossibly deep. The cart creaks under us. Bottles tip, roll off. “Watch me fuck you,” he commands. I look down to the sight of his thick shaft disappearing into my stretched pussy. He grinds his pubic bone against my clit, circles his hips. “Sergei, please…” I writhe, chasing the edge.
“Beg properly.” He pinches my clit, rolls it. Electricity arcs through me.
“Please, fuck me harder! Make me come on your cock!” The words tumble out in one desperate heap. He unleashes it all in the form of pistoning thrusts that shake the cart, my whole body. One hand braces beside my head. The other wraps my throat again, thumb pressing my pulse. “Come now. Milk me dry.”
I explode, orgasm crashing like a wave. My walls convulse, squeezing him rhythmically. He roars, thrusts erratically, but he holds back and doesn’t come. Sweat drips from his brow onto my tits. He leans down, sucks a nipple while I ride it out. “I’m not done,” he mutters, pulling out. My pussy clenches, protesting the loss of him. He drags me off the cart, spins me to straddlehim as he sits on the low shelf of the fire extinguisher cabinet. Reverse cowgirl—my back to his chest, feet planted wide on the tile for leverage.
“Ride me,” he orders, guiding my hips down. I sink onto him, gasping at the depth. His hands grip my waist, but he lets me set the pace first—up, down, grinding. My ass bounces in his lap. His fingers dig into my hips, urging faster. “Faster, Raina. Fuck yourself on my cock like you mean it.” I obey, slamming down hard. The position grinds my clit against his base. His hands roam. One tweaks my nipples and the other slaps my ass, reigniting the burn. “You’re so fucking tight,” he groans. “Built for this. For me.” His fingers slide down, circle my clit. I falter, speed picking up wildly.
He takes over suddenly and thrusts up from below while his hand works my clit. “Come again. Soak my balls.” I do, shattering with a wail. My juices squirt out, drenching us both. He growls, flips me without pulling out. Now facing him on his lap, my arms around his neck, tits crushed to his chest. Missionary on the cabinet edge—intimate, intense. His hands cup my ass, spreading me wider as he drives up. “Kiss me,” he demands. Our mouths collide, messy, tongues battling. He breaks it to bite my shoulder, my neck, marking every inch.
“You’re bruising me,” I gasp but grind down harder. “Wear them,” he snaps. “Let everyone see you’re taken.” Thrusts turn savage. I feel him swell thicker, his cockhead battering my cervix.
“Don’t stop,” I plead, nails raking his scalp.
“Won’t. Not until I fill you.” His hand snakes between us, pinches my clit one last time. I come explosively, vision whiting out, body seizing. He follows—finally—roaring my name as hotspurts flood me deep, pulse after pulse, claiming me from the inside. His arms band around me, holding me impaled as he empties completely.
We stay locked, breaths ragged, sweat-slicked. His cock twitches inside me, aftershocks rippling. Slowly, he lifts his head, eyes boring into mine. “Mine,” he whispers, voice deep and hoarse. “No running. No one touches you but me. I’m going to make sure of that.”
Sergei’s breath warms the side of my neck. I feel the thrum of his pulse under my palm. For a long moment, neither of us moves. His forehead rests against mine. His hands hold my hips as if he is afraid that if he lets go, I will vanish again.
He exhales once, a deep sound that settles in my chest. Then he lifts me into his arms. My legs feel weak, and I do not argue. He carries me down the service corridor and through the narrow stairwell. His steps are sure. Mine would not be. He sets me on the bed in the guest room with a care that unsettles me more than the alarm had. Before I can say anything, he leaves the room without a word. I sit there with my knees drawn close, breathing slowly, waiting for the walls to stop spinning.
